Todd & Téa — Intervals
by Tessaray
Summary: Todd and Téa spend an ill-fated night at the Bayberry Inn and try to deal with the repercussions. Vintage TnT, Christmas, 1997. Angsty, mature exploration of Todd's psyche and sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

**INTERVALS**

**by ****_Tessaray_**

1. A space between two objects.  
2. The amount of time between two specified events.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

_It's Christmas at the Bayberry Inn, and The Mannings are there to enjoy their first weekend getaway as a couple. The problem is, only one of them actually wants to be there._

_Their marriage-of-convenience still unconsummated_, _they've shared a moment of closeness that could have led to more, but Todd has shut down again and is growing increasingly hostile as Téa presses him for answers._

_Finally, Téa breaks the pattern of arguing in circles and offers him a deal: she'll stop bugging him about their 'relationship' and his 'feelings' for one month if he'll allow her to touch him in any way she wants for five minutes._

_We join them in the midst of negotiations..._

* * *

Todd Manning is pacing, running his hands through his long brown hair. 'This is a crap idea, Delgado. You don't know what you're asking.'

Téa keeps her distance, uses her best lawyerly tone. 'Let's look at this rationally, Todd: we're two people who share a certain...affection—'

He winces.

'No? Bond. Can I say bond?'

He glares at her. 'How about _two people who are fellow signatories to a legally-binding contract?_'

'How about _a married couple_,' she says with irritation.

He huffs, begins to turn away.

'Okay, okay,' she says. 'We'll leave labels out of it. How about this: it's just two young, healthy bodies which could, potentially, enjoy one another. Nothing more than that.'

'It's always more than that,' he grumbles.

'It doesn't have to be. I can leave emotion out of it,' she tilts her chin down, challenging him. 'Can you?'

'The only emotions I feel around you, Delgado, are frustration and...more frustration.'

She smiles slyly. 'Well, let's see what we can do about that.'

'Not that kind of frustration. Get your mind out of the gutter.'

'Oh, come on, Todd,' she laughs. 'Five minutes of actual human contact. Maybe even some pleasure. And think of what you'll be gaining.'

'Yeah, you shutting up about all this relationship stuff, you not changing the rules every time I turn around.' He ponders, paces like a lion in a cage. 'Five minutes,' he mutters.

'I promise. I'll put it in writing, if you—'

'Where?'

'On the bed.'

'Awww...'

'Nonnegotiable.'

He groans, fists his hands in his hair. 'I hate this.'

'You can say no.'

He glares at her, works his jaw for a moment.

'No tricks.'

'No tricks. The terms are clear: I will touch you however I want for five minutes, no more, no less. This has a timer,' she says, removing her wristwatch and holding it up between them. 'I don't expect you to participate; you can just lay there. And if you want to continue, we'll set it for another five minutes, and so on.'

'Don't hold your breath, Delgado, 'cuz that's not gonna happen.'

'If you say so.'

'And don't stall and drag things out.'

'You're the boss.'

'Very funny. And no kissing.'

'Agreed.'

He snatches the watch from her hand.

'I'll set the timer. You'll cheat.'

* * *

**INTERVAL 1**

She gestures to the bed and he grumps as he lays himself down, crosses his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankles. She climbs up to kneel beside him. He's as rigid as a corpse.

'Can you at least try to relax?'

'Oh, do have to take direction? Is that part of this, too?'

'Never mind.'

She clicks the button to start the timer, lays the watch on the nightstand.

'You mean that wasn't going already? That was, like, ten seconds. You have to subtract ten sec—hey!'

He seizes her wrists as she goes for his belt.

'What the hell, Delgado,' he barks.

'You agreed—however I want.'

'I was thinking maybe a massage!'

'This is a good deal for you, Todd, but you have to be willing to stretch your boundaries just this once.'

He nearly crushes her wrists, leans up to look her right in the eye. 'Don't _fuck_ with me. In any sense of the word.'

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

He gives her an icy glare, releases her and lowers himself back to the mattress.

'All right,' he says, as though psyching himself up for death by firing squad. 'All right. A deal's a deal. Anything to get you to shut up. Just keep it...clinical.'

He throws an arm over his eyes and makes a show of bracing himself. Really, though, there's no way he's going to let himself react to her. This should be easy, and then a month of peace and quiet.

'How much time is left?'

He feels the mattress shift, hears a click as she lays the watch back on the nightstand.

'Five minutes,' she says.

'Like hell!'

'We spent all that time clarifying our terms, which wasn't technically—'

'Goddammit,' he mutters, decides not to waste any more energy arguing with a woman who argues professionally. 'Whatever. Just get on with it.'

—

She isn't erotic about getting his jeans open or wrestling them and his boxer-briefs over his uncooperative hips and down his thighs. She barely registers the intimacy of this moment—she'll have plenty of time for reflection later, knows her subconscious is recording it all in exquisite detail. But right now, she only has a few minutes and wants to make them count.

She'd half expected his penis to be covered with spikes like some Medieval torture device, the way he's been trying to protect her from it, but it's smooth and warm and perfect, reclining in a nest of dark golden curls. She hears his sharp intake of breath as she begins stroking it lightly with her fingertips. It twitches once, twice, then lays still. While she hadn't expected an ovation, she hoped he might respond in spite of himself.

But there's nothing Téa loves more than a challenge.

She bends her mouth to him, licks gently along his soft, slack skin, feels him begin to swell and lengthen beneath her tongue.

He inhales through gritted teeth.

She doesn't care that he's resisting—she's used to him withholding himself from her in every possible way. But now she's soaking wet, was even when they were discussing their terms, and she has him right where she wants him. Todd the Untouchable, the enigma, with haunted, turbulent eyes and a dark sensuality made even more enticing by his constant attempts to repress it. If this is the only way to get closer to him, so be it.

—

He wants this over with, won't look at her as she fools around with him, keeps one arm locked over his eyes, the other ramrod straight at his side. In his head he's on his high school's gridiron, running defensive drills.

Suddenly, his cock is engulfed in wet heat, and it's been so long that he has to choke back a cry, force his body not to shake apart. Football practice can't possibly compete with this. She sucks him quickly to his full length, backs off when he's too much for her to take, swirls her tongue around his tip and down again. But he's determined to maintain distance and pretends he's in the shower, encased in his own slick, soapy hand. He focuses on the faint tick of her watch on the nightstand, turns the sound into water droplets hitting an imaginary shower door. It must be nearly five minutes by now. When it beeps, this is going to be so over.

—

Téa is falling in love with Todd's cock. It is uncomplicated, responsive, warm—all the things he isn't. And as she loves it, slowly, sensually with her mouth and hands, it seems to love her back, unlike its owner who is as detached and icy as ever and showing no signs of thawing out.

In frustration, Téa gathers his scrotum in her soft, warm hand and tugs. A hiss and a small movement draw her eye upward and when she sees him finally watching her from under his protective arm, her vulva clenches. She licks deliberately up to his tip, then engulfs him slowly, sucking and swirling her tongue, never breaking eye contact.

His lips part and he gasps.

The timer beeps.

####

Téa sits upright, rocks back on her heels and reaches to silence the noise.

'Shall we stop,' she says, not at all sure of the answer.

He doesn't move, seems not to hear her, but his cock twitches in mid-air. His eyes are once again hidden by his arm.

'I said no tricks, Delgado,' he snarls.

'I did nothing you didn't agree to.'

He's quiet for a time, his breathing ragged. 'You were stalling.'

'Stalling would imply a goal, Todd. Do we have a goal?'

'Pleasure. You said pleasure.'

She glances pointedly at his straining erection. He seems to know where she's looking.

'Shut up, Delgado.'

'Perhaps we should renegotiate our—'

'Just set the damn timer.'

* * *

**INTERVAL 2**

Okay, he can't keep himself from responding, so now he's determined to come quickly and put an end to this. But she's focused on pushing his sweater up instead of getting down to business.

'Hey, what about—'

'Shh. Five minutes, anything I want.'

She whispers her fingers through the spray of hair on his chest, scratches lightly over his nipples, and though he tries mightily to suppress it, he's primed now and shivers at every touch. He braces for her self-satisfied comments and is grateful when all she does is brush her lips across the overheated skin of his stomach.

Moving down, she licks slowly up his shaft again and his hips rock homeward of their own accord, pressing his swollen tip gently between her lips. She moans and the vibration sends shockwaves to his balls. It's too much. He feels a familiar, unwelcome heat in his blood and he wants to stop. He squeezes his arm more fervently over his eyes, fists his other hand in the bedspread. He thought he wanted to come, but the truth is, he wants to _have come_, past tense, and now be safely away. He's not ready to risk this with her.

He should stop. Could stop, right now.

Can't stop. Not now. And for the first time in many months, he feels himself separate, float above and watch.

—

Téa feels Todd withdraw from her again, not physically—he is still straining between her lips—but psychically. He would deny it to hell and back, but for several glorious moments he had almost surrendered to her, and she had reacted, and now he's gone. Hiding. And he's so achingly vulnerable, so _fragile_, that she can't help but regret that she ever started this thing.

But for the first time since their marriage she has the power, and it's intoxicating. She ghosts her fingers up his inner thighs and he shivers, nearly convulses under her hands, and if he were any other man, she would tease, tickle, and there would be laughter. But with Todd, every gasp is like an involuntary confession, every touch an invasion of his privacy. She tries to soothe him, to reassure him with gentle strokes and kisses that this is about bodies and pleasure and nothing else. But it isn't, and never will be with him, and that's what he's been trying to tell her all along.

She can stop right here, politely offer him a steaming mug of Christmas glögg, then they can go ridicule carolers and pretend this never happened. But she decides to give him the choice. She sits back.

'Do you want to...finish?'

He is motionless, watching her from under his arm with equal parts desire and hatred. It's a look that, she's dismayed to find, ignites a bonfire between her legs.

'Take off your sweater,' he says, his voice thick.

The timer beeps.

####

She reaches over to shut it off, but leaves one hand resting lightly on his thigh.

'So...you want to continue,' she says, failing to keep the note of triumph from her voice.

His eyes sweep up her body with heat that prickles her skin.

'You gonna get rid of that?'

She hesitates only a moment before reaching for the hem of her sweater, drawing it up and over her head. Her bra is red, lacy, her nipples hard.

'Going to a party?' he says breathlessly.

'Like it?'

'Set the timer.'

* * *

**INTERVAL 3**

He's responding openly now, almost desperately, and though every tortured moan is like the answer to a riddle, she has the sense that he's elsewhere, watching, waiting. She wonders why he hasn't stopped this, why he's allowing it all, and she longs to bring him back and show him that he's safe. Maybe if she's gentle enough, loving enough...

_I can leave emotion out of it..._

_Just two young, healthy bodies..._

She reminds herself of her own words as his warm scent surrounds her and she sinks deeper into him, into his enormous need, into his pleasure and pain and all the new questions they pose. She's at home in this place and doesn't want to go back now. But they made a deal.

Selfishly, she pauses when he's close—to prolong, to tease—loving his choked, agonized sounds, loving his bitten, swollen lips, his long hair that spreads wild on the pillow with each helpless toss of his head, his strong hands that grip the headboard in a gesture very like submission.

Curled beside him, she resumes the steady, insistent strokes of her mouth and hands, and when his hips rock in a gentle counter-rhythm, he's so erotic, so achingly beautiful to her senses that the low throb between her legs grows vivid. She needs to touch herself but is sure he'll mock her, so she squeezes her thighs together, works her internal muscles until she's hot, trembling, on the brink of orgasm.

—

Something has changed; her strokes on him have intensified, her manner is urgent, and it's the need to touch her that pulls him away from his watchful, detached place and back into the fevered, vibrating pleasure of his body. He checks himself first for rage, for malice, for anything that would signal that she isn't safe, before allowing himself to release the headboard and reach down, weave one hand into her hair, cup her ass with the other and pull her onto her knees. His fingers search for and find wet heat through the fabric between her legs, and he presses.

Suddenly she shudders and rears up, releasing his cock into the cool air, and grabs his hip for support. He flinches in horror, convinced he's hurt her, ready to retreat again, until she spreads her legs wide and grinds back against his hand, her mouth open in a silent cry.

Relieved, gratified, he presses, rubs, drinks in every moment of the pleasure he's giving her, and when she wails, her body shattering, he feels his balls tighten with an impending explosion.

'Christ, Delgado,' he gasps, tearing his hand from her hair to grab himself, but she's there first, pumping him wildly.

The timer beeps.

'Fuck that, fuck that,' he cries, and his body arches up as he bursts in her hand with deep, blistering pleasure, feels the hot spurts of semen splash his chest, hears her broken voice gasp, '_God yes, Todd, God yes._'

The beeping continues as they come down, both stunned and quaking with private aftershocks. Panting, she drops her forehead onto his hip and he allows his fingers to weave into her hair again even as the familiar aches and rages return to darken his mind. But now there's something else too, vague and raw.

'I did what you wanted, Delgado,' he says, his voice ragged. 'Now it's your turn.'

She doesn't respond, so he makes a fist and pulls her hair tighter, and tighter still until he feels her nod.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

For the next two weeks, Téa is as good as her word. She is Todd's wife in name only, treating him as little more than a business partner. She doesn't ask for affection, conversation or connection of any kind, just as they'd agreed. She asks for nothing at all. In fact, she's barely there.

And he's been...haunted. Confused. Has taken to opening her closet door when she's not there just to inhale the perfume that lingers on her clothes, slamming the door shut again with a churning rage in his gut that he can't understand. Missing her eyes.

So he shows up at her bedroom door one night with the kitchen egg timer.

He knocks once. She never locks her door so he lets himself in. She's sitting up in her bed wearing that wine-red nightgown that makes her look at once sophisticated, seductive and completely out of his league. The lamp on her nightstand bathes her in a warm circle of light; it's a theatrical effect, appropriate for his purposes. A book is open on her lap and she's staring at him.

'I want to watch you touch yourself,' he says. It sounds good to his ears: confident, matter-of-fact, not at all shockingly inappropriate. Just as he's practiced it.

Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. He braces himself. She'll tell him to fuck off; she'll pack her things and move out of his penthouse, out of his life. But he would never have considered this if he hadn't caught her watching him yesterday in the kitchen, with eyes so hot and feral that he'd grown instantly hard and, despite everything, would have fucked her on the counter if she hadn't snapped on her lawyer face, told him they were out of bacon and strode away, her heels clacking like gunfire.

He'd managed to make it to the bathroom before tearing open his pants and bringing himself off simply with the memory of her voice and _that look_ burning holes in his brain.

_God yes, Todd, God yes_.

But now she's bristling and her eyes narrow as she turns his announcement over in her mind, analyzing every word and nuance, analyzing him. He waits, watches, and when he sees that the answer will be a firm _get the hell out_, he raises his hand.

'Five minutes,' he says. Her eyes land on the white plastic egg timer and her features shift into an expression that can only be described as smoldering.

He turns and locks the door.

She blushes furiously. 'But, Todd! I can't do _that_—'

He tries to seem casual as he settles into the chair near the foot of her bed.

'Stretch your boundaries, Delgado,' he says, echoing her own words from that night, words she'd used to manipulate him. 'Just this once.'

Her lips move with a dozen unvoiced objections, but all he can do is remember how soft they felt on his aching body.

'What is this about, Todd,' she says, with mixed suspicion and amusement. 'I thought things were finally the way you wanted them; no expectations, no sentiment, just a business arrangement. And poor you, what you had to sacrifice to make that happen...'

'Shut up, Delgado,' he says, surprised by the anger that flares in his gut.

She takes it as banter, smiles, closes the book and lays it on her nightstand.

'So, five minutes, hmm?'

He swallows and nods.

'Of what, exactly?'

He feels suddenly shy. He hadn't actually expected to get this far. 'I told you.'

'You want to watch me touch myself.'

He nods.

'Anywhere in particular?'

'Come on, Delgado.'

'Well, you were pretty vague.'

'Fine. I hate the word, but you lawyers just gotta have your Latin, so...I want to watch you…,' he shifts in the chair. 'You know.'

Téa laughs. 'Masturbate?'

Todd shudders dramatically.

'God, you can be so cute.'

'I'm not cute, Delgado. I'm never cute.'

'Duly noted. So what do I get in return for this…performance?'

'You mean besides a screaming...?' He raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly at her lap.

She just as pointedly pulls the sheet tight around her chest. 'Not likely in only five minutes.'

'Okay,' he says, ready with an offer he's sure will thrill her. 'How about...I take you out to dinner. A genuine date. Anywhere you want, all the trimmings. I'll even use cutlery.'

'Tempting, but...,' she fixes him to the spot with a look that would melt ice caps. 'How about another five minutes? Lady's choice. Whatever and whenever I say.'

He falters. He had designed this encounter specifically to avoid physical contact between them. He's still recovering from the last time, still shell-shocked, compelled by something strange and dark to stand outside this very door at night, hungry for her, but not trusting himself enough to give in. He can't bear any more. But he also can't bear nothing at all.

'No, Delgado. Pick something else.'

She shakes her head slowly, a small smile teasing her lips. 'Isn't this worth a measly five minutes to you, Todd, five minutes I might never even claim?'

'Oh, you'll claim them, all right.' He launches himself from the chair and begins to pace. 'Just what do you have in mind?'

'Nothing yet. I'll have to think about it.'

'Well, I won't make a deal without all the facts. That's bad business.'

'I can tell you this; it won't hurt.'

'That's what you think,' he mutters. She cocks her head with an expression he can't quite read.

'It's your call, Todd,' she says, drawing her knees up to her chest. 'To recap: I'll let you watch me masturbate—,' she breaks off, smiling at his exaggerated cringe, '—for five minutes, in return for—'

And there it is again; her broken, gasping voice filling his head—_God yes, Todd, God yes—_and he has to lay a hand on the dresser to steady himself. If there's even a chance of hearing that again, he'll take it.

'All right, Delgado. Fine. Whatever you say.'

'Okay…,' she says, looking surprised by his quick surrender. 'But one condition: we start the timer now.'

'But you're...clothed.'

'I need to get in the mood.'

'Get in the mood on your own time!'

She tilts her chin down and looks up at him through her lashes in that demure way that makes his palms sweaty. 'You know what will get me in the mood very, very quickly?' Her voice is sultry and goes right to his groin.

She's got him and clearly knows it.

'Whatever.' He shrugs like he's not dying to hear her next words.

'If you tell me _exactly_ what you want me to do.'

'Right. Like you'll _obey_ me.'

'Cross my heart,' she purrs.

He feels dizzy.

'Set the timer, Todd.'

* * *

**INTERVAL 1**

Todd self-consciously repositions the chair at the foot of the bed, testing out a few angles before finding the one that provides the best view. Téa's lips are red and moist as she watches him, her nipples hard beneath the silk of her nightgown, the creamy satin sheet clinging to her thighs. He used to sleep on those sheets, picked them out himself, and the intimacy of that fact makes perspiration rise on his skin. He's not at all convinced he'll get through this intact. He seats himself, sets the timer and puts it on the floor at his feet.

'Okay. Here's your first test, Delgado,' he says. 'Lose the sheet.'

She smiles at the challenge and stretches out her legs toward him, keeping them slightly bent at the knee, thighs firmly together. She slowly draws the sheet aside like she's unveiling a work of art, and he decides that indeed, she is; her feet are delicate, her calves shapely and smooth against the shimmering fabric, and the hem of her nightgown drapes her knees in such a way that he has a glimpse of the velvety darkness beyond.

'Pull up your gown,' he orders, and clears his throat. The prospect of her _actually_ doing as he says is intensely arousing to him, and his voice is rougher than he intends.

She doesn't seem to mind. She bites her lip and slides the hem up past her knees even more slowly, stopping at mid-thigh, teasing him.

'Higher.'

She hesitates. 'Todd, maybe—'

'See,' he says, flopping back in the chair. 'I knew you were lying, Delgado.'

She narrows her eyes at him, then yanks the hem up to her hips to reveal matching wine-red panties.

'Happy now?'

'Not yet, but it's a start,' he says. 'And you don't have to sound so pissed off,' he says, leaning forward again. 'This _obedience_ thing was your idea.'

She sucks in an angry breath and Todd braces himself for an evening-ending tirade. But then she seems to remember why he's there and softens. 'Right. You're right,' she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Force of habit.'

'I didn't catch that first part, Delgado.'

Her lips twitch into a smile. 'I said, you're right.'

Todd takes a moment to savor this rare victory, and to regard her. With her perfect hair and her slender body half-draped in silk, she manages to look both elegant and wanton like something from a pre-code Hollywood movie. Perfect. Always perfect.

He recognizes a sudden, confusing impulse to ruin her. It's dark and real and violent. He pushes it away, but it doesn't go far.

'That's a nice get-up,' he says, openly running his eyes over her. 'But it would look even better on the floor.'

Téa glances down at herself, then up at him with an expression close to panic.

'No, not yet,' he says, languidly, leaning back in the chair. 'For now, run your hands down your thighs.'

She considers for a moment, then follows his instructions to the letter with a challenging gleam in her eye. Beginning at her hips, she slides her palms quickly down the curve of her thighs, drawing her knees up protectively as she goes.

He sighs heavily…not what he had in mind, but at least she didn't argue. For all her talk about getting in the mood, she sure isn't showing any signs of it.

'Tell me how your skin feels.'

'Like…skin.'

'Oh, come on, Delgado! At least try—'

'Okay, okay,' she says, laughing. 'Smooth. Soft. Warm. Better?'

'Yes. _Thank you_. Are you done goofing off now?'

She nods, her lips twitching.

'Okay. I want you to run your hands back up your thighs, but use your fingertips this time. And go slow. And for God's sake, Delgado, _stop laughing_.'

She releases a final giggle, draws a deep breath and shakes out her hands. She replaces them on her knees and starts a very mechanical, unsensual journey up her legs. She might as well be brushing crumbs off a table.

Where is that horny woman from the Bayberry Inn?

'Goddammit!' he shouts.

This is going nowhere and he's well past feeling like an idiot. He's about to end it when he hears himself say, 'Start over, and pretend you're touching _me_.'

It hits them both like a slap. Embarrassed, Todd clamps his mouth shut. He has no idea where that came from—too intimate, too revealing. But Téa is watching him, her face suddenly flushed. She looks startled and lovely and very attentive, and he feels himself harden.

'You remember, right…' he says, swallowing hard. 'How you touched me?'

She tilts her chin down and looks up at him through her lashes. 'You mean like this,' she says breathlessly, and glides her fingers over her calf with a delicate, whisper stroke.

He can feel it acutely on his body.

At his slow nod, she settles back and closes her eyes. 'Okay,' she says, as if to herself. 'Okay.' She moves her hands to her thighs and begins touching herself with barely there, feathery fingertips and Todd's eyes follow along, recording every detail. She goes slowly, as he'd said, her touch growing tender and sensuous, her head dropping back. He imagines that she really is thinking of him and he's once again lying on the bed at the Bayberry Inn, feeling her on his hungry skin, seducing him, stiffening him, filling him with bitter resistance.

He's drawn back to the present as Téa stretches her long, bare legs out toward him. Her stroking fingertips reach her hips and the silk barrier of her panties and she stops, shivering, the blush of arousal evident on her skin. He feels a tug of possibility; there may come a day when he'll use what he's learning and allow himself to touch her in this same way. She'll lay back and sigh, open herself to him...and as he imagines this day, the dark impulse, the predatory urge, moves close again, heating his blood.

It can't be today. Watching will have to be enough.

She draws her fingers along the edge of her panties and shivers again.

'Cold?' Todd asks, knowing the answer.

She opens her eyes like a sleepy cat. 'Not cold,' she says, her voice low, soft.

'Now,' he says, matching her tone. 'Spread your legs, nice and wide.'

Her eyes are hooded as she shifts her hips to give him a better view, then she slowly, deliberately opens her legs. Her compliance is intoxicating and he can't help but wonder how far he could take this, what he could make her do.

'Move your hand between your legs and stroke yourself, just one light stroke. And Téa,' he says, purring the words. 'Don't rush; we have all night.'

She gasps and as her chest rises and falls with her quickening breaths, the curve of her breasts shimmer with perspiration. Her hand begins to move, but then she stops and can't meet his eyes. She seems suddenly shy, fragile and unsure; wholly unfamiliar to him, utterly un-Delgado-like.

'Do it,' he says. Then adds, quietly, 'for me.'

Her demeanor changes at that, and she dips her head in an obedient nod that stirs him deeply. She slides her hand from her hip down to the lace and silk between her legs, and her eyes slip closed as she tilts her pelvis. A small movement of her fingers and she shudders, gasps.

'That's enough,' he says, yearning toward her, his heart pounding.

She whimpers but withdraws her hand. She's trembling.

No, it's _not_ enough. Not nearly.

He is suddenly supremely confident in his role. This is what they both want, he's sure of it now, and he feels that he's found his calling: to make Téa Delgado tremble.

This is going to be one hell of a night.

_Yeah, she'll never recover…_the predatory thing whispers_. _He stuffs it down.

'In the mood yet?' he says.

She nods slowly, and looks directly into his eyes. He sees reflected there everything he's feeling: amazement, anticipation, savage hunger, and one thing he's not…submissiveness. She gives him a slow, tremulous smile and a wave of understanding seems to pass between them. Despite the dark thing inside—eager, watchful—he has never felt so close to her, so tender and protective. He can almost imagine letting himself—

The timer dings.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Téa flinches like she's been slapped and quickly closes her legs.

'Shit.' Todd grabs the thing from the floor to silence it, but it's too late; whatever he'd seen in her eyes flickers and vanishes.

'Another round,' he says a bit frantically, starting to turn the dial again.

'Todd, don't.' She seems dazed, like she's just been roused from a dream, and her hands shake as they smooth the nightgown down over her knees.

'The moment—'

'The moment's right here, Téa,' he says, struggling to sound in control, yet gentle. 'Lie back.'

Her face softens and her lips slowly part. He thinks for a moment that she'll comply, but then she stiffens, her eyes flashing, and he's bitterly disappointed to see that she's all Delgado again.

She rubs her forehead and glares at him. 'You liked that, didn't you—' she says, her voice thick. 'Ordering me around…'

He doesn't try to hide his confusion. 'What? You said that's what you wanted!'

She reddens and her jaw works as she seems to search herself for a reply. 'That wasn't five minutes,' she says, her voice like ice.

What the hell—?

'Answer me, Todd. I said, that wasn't five minutes.'

'It might help if you asked a question.'

'It was implied. What did you really set the timer for?'

'Fuck,' he says, slumping in the chair and dropping the plastic thing on the floor with a thud. Her face is as hard as her voice; whatever was happening between them is clearly over. He should try to salvage some dignity now, pretend none of this matters and toss off a casual, _Whatever,_ on his way out the door. But he can't believe she could really shut down so quickly.

'What are you babbling about, Delgado?'

'The timer. You—'

'_You_ said you needed to get warmed up.'

'Todd…'

'Oh, _whatever_!' He pushes up from the chair and throws his hands in the air. 'It's a freakin' timer, Delgado!'

She sits bolt upright, grabs the sheet and pulls it defiantly to her neck. 'I can't believe I almost...if I can't even trust you to set that so-called _freakin' timer_, how can I—'

'Ten, okay?' He shouts. 'I set it for ten minutes. We probably would have gone for another five after the first five anyway, so I don't see what the big deal is.'

'The big deal is that you cheated, Todd! We made a deal. I made myself vulnerable to you, I trusted you and you broke that trust!'

He rounds on her in disbelief and frustration.

'_Seriously_?'

'Seriously.' She glares at him, her face like granite.

Something that has been nagging at him since the Inn, eating at his gut like a slow poison, flares wildly at her accusation. Okay, he cheated. And if he wants to smooth things over and get her to look at him again the way she did not two minutes ago, he should just apologize. He should tell her how disappointed he is that things have turned to shit, how gorgeous she is, how good she makes him feel—and he never feels good. But his throat closes on the words.

He's not the bad guy here.

He feels a familiar change approaching and for once he doesn't try to fight it. He allows the edges of his vision to blur, allows the predatory heat to bloom in his veins, spread to his chest, allows himself to fade.

'I know what you're really pissed about, Delgado,' his voice is quiet, even. He recalls her eyes on him, the way she touched herself, her shy smile.

'You liked it.'

Her eyes fly open wide. 'I liked being lied to?'

'You liked…,' he says, his gaze traveling slowly up her body. 'How I made you feel.'

She turns her head and rubs her palms over the satin sheet like she's trying to wipe away a memory.

'I don't know what—'

'Yeah. You do.' He comes to stand by her bed, close, deliberately looming over her. She glares up at him, draws her knees to her chest and hugs them.

'And I know why you won't admit it. It's a competition with us. Neither wants the other to get the upper hand. But just now,' he says, seating himself on the edge of the bed beside her. 'I had the upper hand…'

He ghosts a finger along the sheet covering her thigh.

'And you _liked it_.'

She's silent, staring straight ahead, so he knows he's right, and he's back in control. It's different from before, but more satisfying, because she hasn't given it up willingly this time.

'You can't stand that you…strong, independent Téa Delgado…liked submitting to _me_.'

A scent drifts from her hair…something darkly exotic, spicy. He leans subtly closer to breathe it in and can practically taste the warm tension radiating off her skin. He modulates his voice to a low purr.

'So you have to backpedal, turn the tables, make me wrong—'

'You are wrong,' she says through gritted teeth. 'Everything about you is wrong.'

'I've never tried to hide that,' he says, moving to whisper in her ear. 'And that's why you're just dying to fuck me.'

She gasps and recoils, her eyes flaming. She raises a hand to shove him away.

He grabs her wrist, laughs and pulls her close. 'So why don't we pick up where we left off before that goddamned timer rang,' he says, his mouth inches from hers. He remembers that mouth on his cock, so skillful and eager. 'I was about to tell you to take these off.' He strokes her hip, feeling the texture of her lace panties through the sheet. 'I was about to tell you to spread your legs for me. But first you have to admit that I'm right.'

She narrows her eyes at him.

'You _loved_ submitting to me.'

Her eyes go molten. 'You're deluded,' she snarls and tries to peel his fingers from her wrist with her free hand but he grabs that one too, tightens his grip on both.

'And you're wet…all over again.'

'God, you're disgusting,' she hisses.

'Funny, I thought I was cute.'

'Let me go, Todd!'

'Oh, come on, Delgado, stop playing coy. I saw the way you looked at me in the kitchen yesterday.'

She freezes in mid-outrage.

'You remember.' _He_ remembers and the blood rushes to his groin.

The heat in her cheeks deepens to red.

'You wanted to fuck me. No need to be ashamed. You weren't ashamed at the Inn, remember? When you _finally_ managed to get at my cock?'

She gapes at him and he feels triumphant, then shocked as he kicks to the surface as though from a deep dream in some cold, dark place and the words his mouth just spoke echo in his ears. His chest tightens painfully and his stomach churns with nausea, like he's hurtling toward an eighteen-wheeler and can't turn away.

He doesn't know how he got onto the bed, can't seem to keep himself from talking.

'That was really more of a betrayal, though, manipulating me to get something I wasn't ready to give you.' His voice is distant, far more controlled than he feels...a calm veneer of contempt over roiling emotions.

He watches the color drain from Téa's face and he's suddenly aware that his grip on her is bruising. He releases her with a snarl and lurches up from the bed, reaches out to the nightstand when his knees start to buckle. He's awake now, _present_.

'But, that's not what happ—,' she gasps, but he cuts her off.

'And mocking me,' he says, fully invested now in continuing the thought he hadn't really started. He leans on the nightstand, swallows hard. 'That was a nice touch. Telling me to get over it, that it was just about, what was it, _healthy young bodies and pleasure_ and all that bullshit, when _you_ _knew, Delgado_—'

'Todd—,' she gasps.

He grips the nightstand with both hands, finally understanding the rage, the low hum of helplessness and violation, the _familiarity_ woven inside the memories of that night. He hadn't known how to think about it, had chalked it up to his usual weirdness about sex, maybe the echo of past traumas, and chose to focus instead on the way her mouth had felt, her voice, how much she'd wanted him.

He flashes on how she'd looked earlier, reclining on the bed...how perfect. How he'd burned to ruin her. And it hits him square in the gut that his goal tonight had been to humiliate her...or worse. No matter what they were moving toward, she had hurt him...and the point was payback. The vicious predatory heat still fresh in his blood, watching over his shoulder, snarling, would have seen to that. And she'd been making it so easy…

Sex. Power. Betrayal. Revenge. Does nothing ever change in his life?

He had _trusted_ her.

'What you did, Delgado…,' he says with profound sadness. 'How are we any different?'

Her face is a stew of disbelief, confusion and horror. 'What are you saying, Todd? That I…_abused_ you?'

FUCK. _Laugh it off_, he screams at himself with a voice that sounds very much like his father's. _Don't humiliate yourself like this! You're a MAN, don't give her power! Don't be weak!_

But he feels weak..hurt. And it had taken so much energy to hide the hurt from himself…the _shame_ of the hurt…that now he's debilitated. He starts to speak, but can't.

Her brow furrows and he can see that she's deep in lawyer mode, weighing the evidence and the reliability of _this_ witness's testimony. If she starts to cross-examine him, it's even money whether he'll hit her or break down sobbing.

He can't do this. _Too weak. Pussy._

'Whatever,' he mutters, pushes away from the nightstand and turns to leave. Too quickly, maybe…the room runs like watercolor and he has a visceral memory of a bedspread in his fist, the smell of balsam room spray, her mouth on his cock, _Deck the Halls_ in the distance, his arm pressed hard over his eyes…_colors spark then fade to grey and he feels grit and melting snow under his cheek as a hand like a bear's paw grinds his head into the hardwood floor. The ceramic Christmas tree his mother had made sits on the table in the hall. It's far away but he can see it. He focuses on it through the shock, the terror, through the scorching pain inside, so deep he feels it in his gut. He'd found the tree in the attic and dared to put it out. His father hadn't said a word about it…_

He notices that Téa is speaking.

'—agreed to the deal...why did you agree?'

He stares at nothing. His mouth tastes like grit.

'I trusted you,' he says dully.

She makes a small, mewling sound. It distantly satisfies him. It hurts him, too.

He's hunched over the nightstand again, his head bowed. His hair hangs around his face like a veil and he rocks slowly from side to side to watch it sway. So tired. No rage…no tears. Just tired.

'Look, Delgado, it's no big deal.'

'But why didn't you stop it?' She says, half gentle, half defensive. 'I felt something was wrong—'

He drags his eyes to her, looks at her through a gap in his veil. 'Then why didn't _you_ stop it?'

She draws a deep, shaky breath, and he thinks she might cry. He decides he would be okay with that. Her eyes glisten and the color is high in her cheeks, her lips are red and swollen from her biting them. She's gloriously beautiful. _Fuck_.

'Because you wanted what you wanted. I get that,' he says. 'I've…been there.'

She pauses again and he can practically hear the wheels turning.

'But…you…_enjoyed_ it…'

His knuckles turn white where they grip the wood, but he's drifted into the long-ago dark, burning with shame, mocking, triumphant laughter wet in his ear.

_Bodies can send the wrong signals to the hands that abuse them, Delgado. _

He pivots so he's facing into the room, half-sitting on the nightstand. He'd love to sink into the chair again, but he doesn't trust his legs to support his weight yet.

His mother made that ceramic Christmas tree…he hasn't thought about that in years.

Téa is watching him closely. He realizes he didn't respond out loud to her implied question about _enjoying_ it…he's glad he didn't. Hinting is almost the same as skywriting around her sometimes. Other times, she's stupid as hell.

Maybe she didn't know. Maybe of all the secrets her eyes have torn from him, this isn't one of them. Maybe she thinks his refusal to have sex with her has been about fear, heartbreak, self-loathing. Whatever. The fact is, he didn't want to do it, fought her every step of the way, aways had. She knew _that_, at least. And she didn't care.

'Well, that's what you counted on, right, Delgado,' he says softly. 'That it would feel too good to stop it? Isn't that why you went straight for my zipper instead of just holding my hand?'

Her face collapses at that and his eyes prick with tears. _Holding my hand_. Too vulnerable, too revealing. _Weak ass punk!_ He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, trying to get rid of the damned stench of balsam and floor wax, isn't 100% sure where he is. Delgado's shoulders are shaking, but he feels oddly detached, like her reactions have nothing to do with him. He wonders vaguely if she's cold. It's winter. It's always winter somewhere in his head and he feels drawn down into cold, into dark. He doesn't remember his mother taking a ceramics class. He doesn't remember her doing anything outside the house. Maybe she made the Christmas tree before she married Peter Manning. Maybe she did a lot of things before she married Peter Manning…he never had a chance to ask her. He can feel the tree in his hands, the size and heft of it, about the length of his forearm. He thinks for the hundredth time how it would feel to crash the thing over Peter Manning's head, watch his blood pool on the hardwood floor. He can see the smooth, round ends of the branches, the brush strokes, the dabs of paint that represent the lights…she would have applied them before the piece was fired…before the heat brought out the colors. She couldn't have known ahead of time how it would turn out…

She should have known.

'Would you have liked that?'

He is drawn upward by a voice and his eyes slide to the bed. Téa swims into focus…her chin is trembling.

'If I'd just held your hand?'

_Don't answer that…!_ So tired. He drops inside again and remembers the Inn, her warm hand surrounding his, briefly, gently, before he'd pulled away from her. Imagines that simple comfort lasting for five whole minutes. Lasting for an entire night. Lasting a lifetime.

'Yeah,' he says. The word is barely a sound, but it exhausts him.

She turns her face away.

_Punk ass FAGGOT! Bitch makes you weak!_

He reels at the voice, at the sudden eruption of violence in his veins. Delgado is small in the bed, her skin shines in the soft light. _Bitch._ So easy to mark, so easy to break. But he's still strong enough to turn it away, to say, _I will not, WILL NOT, act on this_, so it retreats back into itself like an aborted lightning bolt…unspent…impotent, leaving him trembling with the visceral memory of potential.

'Look, Delgado…,' he says, pushing unsteadily away from the nightstand. 'Just, fuck this night, you know? All of it. Never happened.'

How the hell had he gotten here?

Then his eyes land on the egg timer near the foot of the bed and the lightning strikes…blinds his mind, races down his arms and with an agonized cry he scoops the thing up and crushes, twists as though he could smash the hard plastic, obliterate it like a crippling memory, like a leering grin in the night, like a grown man's life. He is shaking with the effort when he feels her gentle hand on his. He gasps, and instantly all the furious energy seems to vanish. Gone. He's empty.

She takes the timer away, turns his hands and lays his shaking palms against her cheeks. He can feel wetness there.

When she raises her eyes, he sees a world of regret and understanding in them. Her eyes…Delgado's eyes…dark, soulful, cutting him open like a scalpel. He missed her eyes the most in the two weeks she kept herself away from him.

They hold his eyes steady as his thumbs stroke her cheeks, as his fingers slide into her hair, silky soft. He bends over her and feels the breath leave his body, feels like he's floating as his lips touch hers, barely, then more deeply as she makes a small, low sound and slowly opens her mouth. Sinking sweetly now, sinking into warmth, into acceptance and forgetting, a soul shiver as her tongue strokes his, sinking so sweetly. He rocks back to see her eyes, fluttering open to reveal the same heat, the same _need_ he saw in the kitchen, and he feels a growl rise in his throat, feels himself surge and as her hand moves to cup his face he sees her wrist where he'd grabbed her, marked red, bruised by his fingers.

He pulls away so violently that she cries out.

_Admit it…You loved submitting to me…_

_Sick fucking bastard._

He staggers back. Her face is stunned confusion, but _that look_ still smolders like charcoal in her dark eyes.

He can't. He moves away, feels his hand on the doorknob, stops when he hears her voice.

'Todd! Don't go.'

It's like he's hearing her from deep underwater, painful pressure all around him, inside and out, cold and dark. He knows this...this cold-dark...a memory, a dream? She's speaking to him from leagues away, fathoms above, and when he drags his eyes around to her, she's shimmering through the current and he would swear the sun is shining behind her, haloing her hair.

He realizes there are tears in his eyes, distorting his vision, but revealing truth. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does it's raw, gasping, like his lungs are about to burst.

'I can't give you what you want, Delgado.'

'I know,' she says. She's kneeling on the bed, holding the white plastic egg timer in her hands. Tears are rolling freely down her cheeks and her face is the picture of compassion. 'So give me what you can.'


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

They agree that she'll set the timer. Ten minutes, she says…he owes her. The five they agreed to for her _performance_, plus the five he 'cheated' her out of. He could have left, should have left. There was no contract, no informal agreement, no insistent mouth on his cock that forced him to stay in that room with her. Just the knowledge that if he left, he'd never go back. And this has to end.

It's possible that he'll kill her tonight. He won't mean to, but he may look over at some point and realize that she's dead and that he did it. He's been floating a lot…sometimes in, sometimes out, sometimes sinking out of sight. There's no telling. The violence is so close it tastes like ozone. He tried to warn her, but she dismissed it, said she wants to kill him sometimes, too, and she laughed, a bubbly sound because he's hearing her from underneath, where things are softer and don't hurt as much in the cold-dark.

But he'd stared hard at her bruised wrists, and she'd followed his eyes, looked away. Maybe she understood.

Whatever.

_Selfish, stupid bitch_.

He doesn't know what to expect when he lays down on the bed like the voice orders. Whatever...he'll force himself to deal. He closes his eyes as he had so many times in the past.

He feels the mattress dip beside him and braces himself. 'How can I make things right?' says a soft, tender voice. He's startled, confused. He opens his eyes to find Delgado. Not Peter Manning.

He's too tired, disoriented. 'Tell me to leave.'

'Do you want to leave?'

He says nothing. He didn't fight back then, either...didn't try to leave. Did as he was told.

'Can I hold your hand?'

The breath catches in his chest. It could be a trick...she still might mean him harm.

'It's your ten minutes,' he says, his throat tight.

The mattress shifts again and he hears a grinding squeak as she sets the timer and he's gratified that he did some damage to the thing after all.

* * *

**INTERVAL 2**

Téa lays down beside Todd, close enough that the heat from their arms seems to merge and create a kind of force field between them. He shrugs away, then more until there's just cool air.

'I'm going to hold your hand now, okay?'

His hand is fisted at his side and he flinches as he feels hers slip beneath and cup it gently. There are no teasing strokes down his arm, no bad intent that he can sense, no seduction. It's warm and he feels a soothing tingle where their skin touches. Just skin...her skin...her _caring_. It's there for him, he just has to trust it, let it in. And it's patient…not like the predatory thing when it flares and tries to take him over. He relaxes a bit, allows his fist to loosen, allows himself a taste of what she's offering, and when there's no pain, he gives a silent assent, and accepts. It washes through him, the tingling warmth, so gentle, cleansing. She sighs like she senses it, too and he feels her roll onto her side to face him, her other hand coming to rest on top of their intertwined fingers.

This is...okay. Buoyed now, he brings himself up from the cold-dark to float on the surface. There's no taste of ozone.

'I wanted to punish you,' he says. 'Hurt you.'

She's silent for a time, squeezes his hand. He doesn't react.

'Is that why you came here?'

'Yes.'

He waits for her words.

'Do you still want to do that?'

'I don't know. I don't think so.'

She grips his hand in the two of hers and he can feel her intensity. 'Todd, if I'd known I was hurting you that night…I didn't understand. I still don't, but…I guess I don't need to.'

He squeezes her hand then, and she exhales, silently, her breath ruffling his hair.

And he drifts, carried on a gentle current. His body feels like lead, but he's not sinking. He thinks it might be possible to sleep.

Ten years old and standing outside the cabin, his mother asleep inside. Dark, no moon. So tired from fresh air and laughter, but he knows Peter Manning will come to steal him and he has to keep watch. A noise by the river, tripping, sliding down the bank now, down into wet, into deafening rush, water over rocks, down into cold-dark—like the bathtub at night where large paws hold him under—but he's free now, and it's too dark to know which way is up. Remembering her hair, lit by the sun, her hand cradling his head, arms around his small body, always, for days, not wanting to let go, her voice singing words just for him...each moment stretching on, stretching on, and he can't find the bank, can't swim anymore, sinks into the cold-dark...but it's okay to stay forever, because now he won't have to go back to _him_.

He's startled, lifts his head when the mattress shifts. 'Sshh,' Téa says. 'The timer rang. Go back to sleep.'

Sleep. Yes, he was there. Peaceful in the cold-dark until he found the rocks, the bank...and his life went on.

'I missed you,' he says, his voice thick in his throat. 'That's why I came here.'

'I thought you came to punish me.'

'Can't it be both?'

'It can be whatever it is.'

'How Zen,' he says. He starts to drift again…she's solid at his side. 'You stayed away good, Delgado.'

She squeezes his hand. _'_We had a deal.'

'Deals suck,' he says.

He rolls his head to look at her when she laughs and notices small, dark spots on her wine-red nightgown. Tear stains, from earlier. She cries so easily…her dark eyes shimmer so beautifully when he hurts her.

'But you wanted me to leave you alone,' she says, a blend of teasing and old hurt.

He reaches down, takes the hand that covers his, lifts it above his eyes.

'I don't know what I want,' he breathes.

He moves her wrist to his mouth and before he can think, he brushes his lips gently over the bruise his thumb made. He feels her pulse leap against his lips. He does the same to each bruise in turn, kissing, soothing, regretting.

From the corner of his eye he can see her watching him, mesmerized, her lips wet and full.

'If you did know what you want,' she murmurs. 'What would it be?'

He presses her palm to his chest so she can feel his heartbeat.

'To be someone else.'

'I don't want you to be someone else.' There's a fierceness in her voice that draws his eyes down to hers. They're huge, wet, resolute, ravenous, and the breath rushes from his lungs. He's sinking again, sweetly sinking now, and he wants more than anything to be the man she sees. But God, he could have her anyway, and there's a hiss in his blood like water hitting a hot skillet, the faintest hint of ozone. He can control it. He can.

He releases her hands and lifts himself onto his elbow, lets his eyes roam her face, her body. Her own eyes are hungry and black as night. She is on her side, her uppermost breast slipping from the shelter of the low neckline of her gown. He is drawn there, ghosts his fingers along the naked curve, his thumb over her taut nipple barely hidden by silk. He watches her body shudder, her lips part with a shock of pleasure.

There's power here, too. But he's too raw, hurt, exhausted...can't control the predatory heat that's blooming, that wants her fear, wants to shred her. He should push away, submerge again, where it's safe.

'Delgado,' he says quietly. She lifts smoky, lusty eyes to his. 'I'm sorry.'

He watches her face collapse in frustration and pain. He shares it. She rolls onto her back, covers her eyes with her palms and groans.

'You sure you don't want me to be someone else?'

She groans again.

If he were someone else, he would take her. He would love her…float and ride the current with her, intertwined together like soft, warm hands that soothe and heal...then _not_ sink, but move together in the sweet rocking ache that rises and rises and crests in peace...forgetting...bliss.

But he's not someone else.

'You said, _give me what you can_…this is the best I can do.'

She lifts her palms and looks at him with confusion. 'What is?'

'Take off your panties, Téa. I want to watch you touch yourself.'

* * *

**INTERVAL 3**

There's really no need for the timer, but they set it anyway, for old times' sake. They split the difference…seven-and-a-half minutes. She says it will take longer, he begs to differ.

He resumes his place in the chair, missing her warmth, but it's safe over here and he can stay on the surface. Téa positions herself on the bed and bites her lip.

'So, this is it, huh?' She says.

'You can say no.'

She pauses, but doesn't remind him that she gave him the same out at the Bayberry Inn. He didn't take it, either. She inhales deeply as though preparing herself. She pulls her nightgown up to her waist, lifts her hips and hooks her thumbs in the waistband. She gives him a deep, searching look, and when he nods, she slides her panties down and off her legs. She starts to toss them to the side, but he holds out his hand.

'Good throw,' he says, as they land in his open palm. They are warm and silky to the touch. She's watching him, so he doesn't lift them to his face.

'Go ahead,' she says.

He loves her scent. He remembers it from before, when he pressed his hand between her legs that night at the Inn. It had remained on his fingers only a moment, disappearing as he'd breathed it in after the commotion was over, ephemeral as a breeze. But he remembers. He inhales now, in full view of her.

Something that feels like life stirs in him, coaxing him out of a stupor he hadn't even known he was in. Floating…he'd been floating. But sometimes…deeper…someplace cold, dark. There's a vague, amorphous memory...maybe a dream.

He crushes the silk in his hand. 'Spread your legs,' he says.

She does, wide, looking directly into his eyes. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. In the glow of the bedside lamp, she shines, pink, perfect and so ready for him that he squeezes his eyes shut and feels heat rising painfully in his chest.

'I wish I could…be with you,' he says.

'I know.'

He opens his eyes again and meets hers to find no judgement, no complaint. She's simply...waiting.

'What's your word for...down there?' He doesn't want to stare, so keeps his eyes on hers.

She smiles. 'Pussy,' she says softly. He feels a little thrill at her voicing the word, but he can't bring himself to repeat it.

'Okay. Your...you're beautiful, Téa. I want to…I want you to touch yourself.'

Watching him with a tenderness that pierces his heart, she shifts her body so she's fully illuminated for him and slowly slips a dark-tipped finger into the wetness between her legs.

He can see by how gentle she is that she's very aroused; so swollen and sensitive that a whisper touch makes her quiver.

'You'll need more time, huh?' He teases.

'I didn't realize what your eyes would do to me,' she breathes, fragile as spun sugar, but her eyes are hot with an animal desire that licks at his cock like flames.

A low growl rises in his throat as he watches her back begin to arch.

'Don't come,' he says.

She sucks in air and pauses, moves her hand to her thigh. Her middle finger glistens in the light.

He's not sure when his erection went from being uncomfortable to being painful. It doesn't matter.

_'_Go on.'

She takes a few steadying breaths and moves her hand back to her vulva. Trembling, feathery circles now, each one eliciting a small gasp and a gentle rocking of her hips.

'Don't come.'

She pauses again, her breathing tight, tortured; so close. He watches the deep pink tremors, the tiny wet shivers, makes her wait.

'Tell me what you're thinking about.'

'You.'

'Tell me what I'm doing.'

'Just this…just watching me. Your eyes—,'

She convulses then, not touching, tightly gasping… 'Oh shit, Todd—,'

'No, not yet.'

'Oh, shit…' Her body is rigid, almost in the grip, breath caught high in her chest…and he's right there with her, tension scalding his body, hands poised to seize his cock…but then she relaxes, releases her breath and goes limp.

She lets out a low laugh. 'That was close.'

He's…disappointed, his body vibrating with unspent energy. But she had fought to stop her own pleasure...to please _him_.

'Téa,' he says quietly, moved. 'My good, beautiful Téa.'

She slowly lifts her eyes to his and there's _that look_ again, the one from the kitchen…naked, ravenous…reaching down, down past his armor, past the wreckage of rage, pain, self-loathing to this primal thing, fathoms deep, that makes joining with her, getting himself inside her, seem absolutely crucial to his survival.

And here she is, _so fucking needing him_…

He feels himself surge, wreathed in flame, then that goddamn sensation of floating that separates him from her. He doesn't make the decision consciously, so he's alarmed when he feels his body rise. Her eyes lock into his and watch him fiercely as he moves to the bed. He stares down at her, poised, ready, but forces his hands away from his belt, and instead drops to his knees and clasps her hips. He pulls her body smoothly across the satin sheet to his open mouth. She bucks and screams as he tastes her for the first time. With her, present…_oh fuck, yeah, God yeah_…yet not, he licks the soft, slick folds of her pussy as her back arches and she cries out wildly, curling her fingers into his hair. She grinds against his tongue, shuddering, and he feels himself moving further away, sinking away…_no, not now!_…and as his mouth moves on her, he becomes a distant echo of himself, a numb guardian in the cold-dark, keeping the monsters far, far away.

She's coming hard, so quickly, practically weeping, and it's just too painful to stay away. He comes back, rushing to the surface, his lungs burning, but things are clinging to him, and when he slides his hands under her round, perfect ass to feel her writhe, his blood is ferocious fire and he tastes ozone instead of her. He has to sink again, but as it's ending and she's whispering, _God yes, Todd, God yes_, he has to…_has to_…and feels himself float up between her legs and free his cock. She's ready, her eyes molten, but he forces himself to use his hand instead and as he comes, silently, through gritted teeth, he's distantly struck by the contrast of his white semen spilling across the wine-red silk covering her breasts.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Todd is on the floor, leaning back against the bed, his pants open. He is wide awake now, more awake than he's been all night, almost wired. He feels the mattress dip behind him and Téa settles herself among the sheets again, one leg draped down beside him.

'Where did you go,' he asks.

'The timer went off. Didn't you hear it?'

'No.' He doesn't remember it ringing, doesn't remember her getting up. He must have dozed off.

His mouth and mustache are full of her. He wishes he had _really_ been there at the time instead of sunken in the cold-dark, but at least he has this. He inhales deeply, allows her scent to move around inside him, slip into a few empty places.

'Where did _you_ go,' she asks.

'When?

'Before.'

'Uh...to the movies. What the hell?'

He can practically hear her wheels turning.

'So, that's what happens when—,'

'When what? What the hell are you talking about Delgado? Shut up.' He wraps his arms around her calf, presses his cheek to her knee. There is no immediate danger. There isn't. He lets himself feel her, warm and comforting as a long-lost blanket.

'Your leg is shaking,' he says.

She huffs a laugh. 'I almost keeled over when I got off the bed.' Then her hand is stroking his hair.

'I loved what you did,' she says. It's just a statement of fact and she's smart not to wait for a reply. 'And you owe me a nightgown.'

He opens his eyes, has a visceral memory, makes a small sound of disgust.

'It's okay, Todd, I loved that, too. You couldn't help yourself.'

He feels disoriented, can't quite recall the sequence of events. 'You should hate that I couldn't help myself,' he grumbles.

'But that's part of sex. Good sex, anyway. Passion, letting yourself go, getting carried away...'

'You'll get carried away—in a body bag, if I ever really let myself go.' He doesn't mean it as a joke, and she doesn't take it as one.

'But you won't let that happen, will you,' she says, her voice softening with something like regret. 'I saw it, the way you stopped yourself.'

Did he sink, or did the cold-dark rise up to cover him? Either way…

'Better a ruined nightgown, than—'

'What? What do you think would happen?'

He sighs deeply. 'Whatever.'

She jostles him with her leg and he hugs it tighter.

He feels her lift his hair and let it flow through her fingers like water, making his scalp tingle. He closes his eyes, doesn't try to muffle a sigh.

They're quiet for a time. It's companionable, nice. It's been a long while since he hasn't felt the need to protect anyone from anything, including himself, and he's grateful to her post-orgasm hormones that she's letting him be. She'd hardly be Delgado if she didn't dig a little bit, but at least she's not cross-examining him. She's not asking, for instance, why he's holding onto her leg for dear life.

He feels the mattress shift behind him again as she stretches her body. She makes a low, purring sound that reminds him he really should zip up his pants.

'You're very good at that,' she says languidly.

'What?'

'Do you want the Latin?'

'Oh…that. How do you even know, Delgado? The state you were in, I could have launched a paper airplane at you from across the room and you'd have been a screaming mess.'

'Jesus, Todd!' She laughs and his skin ripples happily in response.

He inhales again, absorbing her into his cells, grateful to his own hormones for creating this calm place inside where he can just accept what she offers, and not look too closely at his confusion. He's exhausted, that's all, and the monsters will be back soon enough. But for now…he made her come, loud, long and deep. He feels his cock stir again, wonders how long he can go without washing his face before it gets gross.

She's flexing her foot and the movement catches his attention.

He's always had a little thing for feet, but since it's one of his lesser afflictions, he hasn't bothered to feel weird about it. She twitches when he strokes her arch, relaxes when he takes her foot in his hands. It seems ridiculously small and…with a shock, he realizes that her toenail polish doesn't match her fingernail polish. It stops him cold. She's usually perfect—everything matches everything. Case in point, he noticed her fingernails because they're the same shade as her nightgown. But this is a bubblegum pink that not only doesn't match, but it is so wrong for her in every way that he can't believe it didn't register before. Delgado is sophisticated, elegant…this is tacky, naive. Maybe it was an experiment gone awry, maybe she actually likes it, but the fact that it's there at all is so uncharacteristic that he feels unutterably touched, and presses his cheek to the top of her foot so forcefully that she lays a hand on his back.

'Todd?'

He can deal with rage, betrayal, games, even humiliation, but not this. Why can't he float now, why can't he sink when he _wants_ to?

He shoves her foot away and launches himself from the floor, zipping up his pants as he goes. 'That's it, Delgado,' he says, trying to steady his voice. 'Playtime's over.'

She looks stunned. She pulls her foot up onto the bed and starts examining it.

'No, it's not—stop that!' He shouts. He runs his hand over his face, reactivating her scent, and nearly collapses.

'Todd, what the HELL is going on?'

He's got his hand on the doorknob now, pulls, can't understand why it won't open.

'Todd, stop!'

He stops, panting, braces himself against the doorframe with both hands. He hates being this awake, this…raw. And it was only a little while ago he stood on this exact spot, trying just as desperately to leave, and both times her voice, her power, have stopped him.

'I'm never getting out of this room alive, am I?' He says weakly. 'This is some kind of horror movie. I'm trapped in here forever, like a rat in a lab, and you're the vivio—...what's the word...'

'I'm the vivisectionist?'

'Yeah, that.'

'You think I'm _experimenting_ on you?'

He turns and slumps against the door, drags his eyes to the bed. She's kneeling in her come-stained nightgown, her hands on her hips, looking magnificent, ruined and pissed as hell. _Ruined_...that's what he wanted not so long ago, but he feels no satisfaction whatsoever.

'Fine, Todd, nothing's keeping you here. If you want to leave, then get out.'

'I can't open the door.'

'It's locked, you moron.'

He makes a half turn toward the door, stops, and slides down to the floor instead. Every cell is buzzing and he's starting to feel dizzy.

'I give up,' he says, dropping his head into his hands.

'No one's fighting you but _you_.'

'Whatever.'

He can practically hear her teeth grinding. 'If you say that again, I'm going to murder your parrot.'

'Hey,' he says, reaching for normalcy. 'Moose is an innocent bystander.'

'Well so am I, yet here I am, on the frontline of whatever war you have raging inside you, and I'm sick of getting hit by shrapnel. Now, do you want to tell me what just happened?'

'Um...not really.'

'Then get out.'

'Okay.' But he doesn't move. He's facing away from her, his shoulder pressed to the door. His wired energy has sputtered, leaving him feeling battered, hollowed out. He thinks this might be a good place to sleep. He hears her fold her arms; it's improbable that he does, but it would be the next logical thing for her to do. He hazards a glance around. Yep. And she's glaring at him.

'It was your nail polish,' he says.

She glances down at her hands.

'No, your toenail polish.'

Her brow furrows in confusion.

'It's pink.'

'So?'

'_Bubblegum_ pink.'

She sits back on the bed and props up her foot so she can see. 'I think it's cute,' she says. 'But if it offends you so much that you have to run screaming from the room, I'll put socks on.'

'So that's deliberate?'

She looks more confused than ever. 'Todd—'

He pushes to his feet. 'It's completely wrong for you, don't you see that?' He's much more agitated than the topic warrants, and he understands why she's looking at him like he's crazy. He feels crazy, remembering how his heart had swelled with something intolerable.

'How could you make a mistake like that, Delgado?'

'Todd,' she says in a soothing, psych-ward voice. 'It's just nail polish…'

She searches his face and understanding seems to dawn in her eyes.

'Oh, it's wrong for me…I see. I made a mistake.'

'A huge mistake,' he says.

'Well, I'll take it off right now if you want. There's acetone over there on the dresser.'

He follows her eyes to the bottle, tucked amidst her perfume, moisturizer and all the other things that create her special scent. He runs his hand over his face again and inhales, preferring this scent, the intimate one that now surrounds him and keeps him tethered, but barely.

He moves to the dresser. This is ridiculous. He watches her out of the corner of his eye, half expecting to see her lunge for the phone to have him hauled away.

'There are cotton balls in that white jar,' she says.

He gathers up what she needs and deposits it on the bed.

'So, you're really gonna do this now?' He says.

'Todd, this night has been so weird I wouldn't be surprised to see monkeys parachuting in through the window, so why not this?'

He smirks. 'That sounds like one of mine.'

She looks up at him in mock horror and he chews back a smile.

'Something tells me you won't mind watching this, so have a seat.'

He settles on the edge of the bed as she wets a cotton ball with sharp-smelling fluid, hunches over her bent right knee and presses the cotton to her big toe. She holds it there, wiggles it a bit, then wipes and pulls it away, leaving behind a flesh-colored toenail. She shows him the bubblegum-pink stain on the cotton ball.

'Feel a little less crazy now?'

He nods. But he doesn't. He's jittery again, buzzing with weird associations. He sees shoes, moving, dancing…men's shoes, huge, and a woman's, black, open-toed, shiny pink nail polish, heels like knives…

'Feel like telling me what this is all about…' Téa is asking.

'Maybe later,' he says. But he has no idea. He needs to touch her, feel her solidity. He pulls her foot into his lap and reaches for the bottle and a fresh cotton ball.

By the second toe he feels confident, by the third he's an expert. It's soothing, centering, to have something to focus on, and he looks up to see that Téa has leaned back on her elbows and is watching him intently, a thin sheen of perspiration covering her chest. Her nipples are hard beneath the silk that's marked with his semen.

He carefully moves her foot away from his groin.

'You're so beautiful,' she says softly.

He snaps his eyes to hers, shining and vulnerable, and it flares like a brushfire again, this energy between them. He's frankly tired of fighting it. But he should stop this. Of course, he should stop this.

He does stop, but only to set the materials aside and begin gently massaging her foot. It's small and delicate in his hands, and it's not a stretch to imagine that her body would feel the same way beneath his. As his thumbs press into her arch, she groans and her head drops back.

He wonders if she's wet again, feels sure she is. Her taste is in his mouth and he can recall the brief moment he'd surfaced long enough to really _feel_ her quivering against his tongue.

_And then his hand reaches, his thumb brushes the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat, then down over her breast, stroking her nipple, and she moans and lowers onto her back, spreads her legs wide for him, his other hand is pushing her nightgown up and up, over her head, her arms, until it's gone completely, finally gone, and he can run his tongue up her stomach to her breasts, feel her hands knotted in his hair again, her legs wrapping urgently around his waist…_

He drops her foot onto his thigh and reaches for another cotton ball.

'What just happened?'

'Gas pain.'

She laughs. 'Chicken.'

'Through and through.'

'Whenever you're ready,' she says and lays back, stretching her arms over her head and sighing the sigh of the contented.

'Do you mean that?'

'I had two orgasms. I'm good for a few more hours.'

'Two, huh?' He says, with a buzz of pride.

She stretches, purring. He likes this side of her…playful, sated, free. He never knew it existed.

'So, Delgado…,' he says, hesitates, knowing that what he's about to say is a real possibility. '...What if I'm never ready?'

She lifts her head and gives him an open, dazzling smile. 'The world is full of egg timers.'

His heart swells with that intolerable thing again, and it spreads from there to other hollow places inside. So it wasn't a fluke or a hormone-induced delusion. He wants to chase it away but instead he might let it skulk around a bit to see if he could get used to it.

He lifts her foot and kisses her arch, then sets to work on her pinky toe.

When he's done, he pulls her left foot into his lap too, and examines them both side by side—one natural, the other one evidence of the same fallibility, the obvious character flaw, the colossal error in judgement that could allow someone like him anywhere near her.

'That works for me,' he says.

She lifts her head. 'That looks stupid, Todd.'

'Who's gonna see your feet?'

'I'll know. Come on, seriously, do the other one.'

He scans himself, feels remarkably...good, for him. All is calm, all is bright…no predatory heat, no resentment, no dark agenda. That he knows of. He lets his eyes travel up her body.

'Later,' he says.

_To be continued..._


End file.
